Blood and Bourbon (Revamped)
by lightninginmyeyes
Summary: AU/AH (REWRITE): What happens when Bonnie Bennett, law student and all around Good Person, finds herself living next to the infamous Damon Salvatore, rock-star/playboy-guitarist, all around Not-So-Good-Person? Collection of loosely connected one-shots. (rom-com drama)
1. Beginning

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep any eye out for any differences! **

**I'm so glad to be back!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** Language and crude humor (?)

* * *

 **1/?**

 **Beginning**

 **Word Count:** 1230

 **Prompt: "Listen, you may be a famous (and extremely attractive) guitarist, but that gives you** _ **no right**_ **to practice on the electric at 2 a.m. when we live right next to each other."** ( _slightly altered_ )

* * *

Bonnie Bennett is, by _no_ means, a short fuse.

She patiently guides her friends through easily avoidable life dramas. She helps mothers of screaming toddlers whenever she stumbles upon on in the grocery store. She volunteers at retirement homes and hospitals. She even spends weekends house-sitting or pet-sitting-for free.

Who knew it would be the wailing guitar solo in the early and _delicate_ hours of the morning that would more than _shred_ her last nerve.

She spent more than half of her day—a beautiful summer day—in her apartment, cramming for a Civil Rights exam, amidst a running-like-a-faucet kind of cold with a long-lasting, delirium-inducing fever. At one forty-five, she decides to turn in for the night. She sinks into her full-sized mattress like a coin in a well, wishing for a good night's rest. It feels like a hug from some cosmic being. _Good job, little one_ , it whispers, _you may rest now_.

Her neighbor, however, has different thoughts.

She prays for a full five minutes, that the blaring noise would stop. She bargains with any god with ears on-she'd fail the test tomorrow, she'd give up law, she'd sacrifice her firstborn, she's become a nun-but no god was in the mood for bribery. With a sigh encompassing defeat and pure aggravation, she pulls herself out of her comfort, shoves her glasses onto her face, stumbles through her dark apartment, out the door, and slams her small fist against the apartment door one over.

The apartment adjacent to hers has been empty since she moved in her first year of law school. It was a bless, a blessing-until two weeks ago. This mystery man moved in without any fuss, and while he shouted obscenities at his loud video games ate into the night, that was the extent of the noise. She'd seen him once, staggering into his apartment, but never his face.

Finally, the distorted sound of angrily strummed guitar strings _stops_ , and Bonnie sighs contently. Ready to pivot and march right back to her bed, she stops when the door opens and a god appears. Maybe that's why her prayers were unanswered-the closest god is the one causing havoc on her beauty rest.

Porcelain skin. Ripped jeans hanging low on his hips. Perfect abs peeking through an open black button-up shirt. Disheveled ebony hair. Cold, sharp blue eyes.

It is Damon-fucking-Salvatore.

 _The_ Damon-fucking-Salvatore.

He is in one of the hottest bands of the century with his brother and two others. Bonnie isn't really into her dark, edgy music, but she also doesn't hate it. In fact, she recognized the song he was playing, _Immortal_ , but didn't think anything of it. Her best friend, Elena, has been a fan since day one and would _die_ if Bonnie told her the lead guitarist of Blood and Bourbon interrupted her sleep.

She would also die if Bonnie told her she _murdered_ the lead guitarist of Blood and Bourbon for interrupting her sleep.

"Cute onesie, little bird."

Bonnie's pajamas, a red bird onesie, has a small beak on the hood that covered her wrapped hair and scalloped wing/sleeves. She crosses her arms, tired eyes barely staying open as she glares.

Is this a fever-induced dream?

"Did you come for an autograph or something?" The rock star disappears into his apartment before she can deny or decline. "Come in," she hears within, "I just have to find something to write with..."

Bonnie tentatively steps into the one-lamp-lit apartment. She doesn't know anything about musicians or celebrities in real life, but based on made-for-TV movies, they are notorious for drugs, sex, and well, rock-n-roll. She doesn't know if she wants to get tired up in any of that. She follows the sound of his mumbles, dodging objects he rejects from his still packed boxes.

"I'm not here for an autograph," she finally blurts. Damon spins around with a permanent marker and wild eyes at the same time, ready to defile her onesie with his name. His eyebrows drop as he frowns, her words finally impacting. "I came to-"

"Take a picture!" he guesses incorrectly and way too enthusiastically. "Let me just...!"

He leaps over something she can't see, and she begins to protest but a flood of light invades the room and her eyes. She swears loudly and screws her eyes shut.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"She's-" Bonnie pries an eye open painfully. "Listen, Mr. Salvatore-"

"Mr. Salvatore is my brother," he smirks, proud of his witty sleight at his brother, "you can just call me Damon. Or Sex God of Blood and Bourbon. It's a mouthful, but so am-"

"Okay, _Damon_ -"

"What's your name again?" His hands tuck into his back pockets, his shirt opens more, and he leans closer to listen to her nasally voice. He's quirky-and probably wired on something stronger than the empty energy drinks littering the carpet-but she'd be lying if she said his proximity and good looks aren't laboring her breathing.

"Bonnie." She sniffles. Maybe the labored breathing is the cold. "Listen, Damon, I-"

"Bonnie," he repats with a thoughtful smile, and Bonnie deflates with a sigh. "Like _bonbons_. God, I love bonbons. They're like filled with ice cream or cream or something, right? God, they're just _so_ -"

" _Shut up_!" With her cold, her voice reduces to a growl. His perfect teeth clamp together. She breathes deeply. "Look, I'm sorry. I-"

"It's okay."

"-just came by to ask you to turn down your music."

Suddenly, his face contorts like she shoved a lemon into his mouth, and his mood darkens.

"Turn _down_ my _music_?" He is genuinely offended, but his dramatic hand-to-chest gesture is too comical. "My music is my living! I shall _never_ turn it down!" "It is a masterpiece! It is-"

"Obnoxious as _hell_ when you're trying to sleep." The theatrics so early in the morning is nauseating. ' _Shall_ ', really? Why the hell is he living in her scanty apartment building in the first place? Aren't there plenty of penthouses in the city? "Listen, you may be famous-" and _extremely_ attractive "-and _whatever_ , but that gives you _no right_ to practice at two a.m. Not while I'm living next to you."

"Then, move." Her eyebrows rise lazily. He folds his arms and sticks his nose in the air-like a damn toddler.

"Don't be ridic-"

"I'll pay for your new place."

Bonnie pauses before anger replaces her consideration. "I will not be _bought_."

"I'll have you evicted," he counters immediately.

"Right..." she drawls sarcastically. He's grasping at thin air now. "Well, until then, _shut the hell up_."

"I'll just crank it louder."

That grabs her attention, and in return, she grabs the lapels of his open shirt. The insanely attractive man's confidence wavers. He blinks as she glares into those half-lidded eyes, now at her level.

"You may be famous, Salvatore, but I am a law student. I can kill you and _easily_ cover it up."

The air between them is charged and kind of stuffy. Or maybe that's just Bonnie's poor nose. She needs some medicine and sleep.

"Damn, that's hot."

"I'm running a fever," she jokes pathetically. She releases him and starts to leave. "Just let me sleep. I promise I'll be kinder tomorrow."

"Don't bother, Bonbon," he calls after her. "I kind of like this... _witchy_ side to you."

* * *

 **Slightly different, slightly the same. Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**


	2. End

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep any eye out for any differences!**

 **I'm so glad to be back!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand names mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** Language, crude humor, mentions of sexual content and substance abuse.

* * *

 **?**

 **End**

 **Word Count: 1999**

 **Prompt: "You frustrate me."/ "Because I'm somehow both charming and handsome?"/ "Because no matter how many times I throw you out, you just don't get the hint."**

* * *

The knock on her front door makes Bonnie evaluate her schedule. She dives for her meticulous and outlined planner on her nightstand. Nothing is planned for today until eight-which approaches too quickly and she has no time for distractions.

But distractions barge in anyways. A childish " _Bonnieeee_ " sings through her apartment before she can even decide to ignore the knock. She rolls her eyes, shrugs on her floral robe, and confronts Damon in her kitchen.

At first, Damon Salvatore-yes, the freaking lead guitarist of Blood and Bourbon-was a _nuisance_ neighbor. If it wasn't guitar playing in the dead of the night, it was stumbling into his filthy apartment after partying until sunrise. If it wasn't attempting to unlock _her_ door while high on whatever drug, it was bringing home loud moaners and screams, sometimes a few at a time. Bonnie spent the first few months making routine visits to that chaotic apartment to reprimand and scold him. There were many threats to call the police, or worse, the paparazzi or _even worse,_ his fans.

Slowly, though, the idiot has crawled under her skin and burrowed into her good graces. She isn't sure how, because he is still majorly flawed and still a huge pain in the ass, but he is charming and funny-and Bonnie's sure his attractiveness plays a part. Somewhere between visits to his apartment, to chastise him for his existence, she began showing up to his door during the quiet hours too. Somewhere between the arguing and judging, she began joking and laughing.

He'd asked for a key, with bogus reasoning, but from that day on, he's breezed in and out. Some days, she'd come home after a long day of classes, to find him frowning at a recipe before he gave up and made his delicious pancakes. Other days, she'd be completely drained from studying or doing a project on campus, and she'd be surprised by a care package of bubble baths, candles, and-what else?-bonbons.

If anyone had told Bonnie she would become best friends with the infamous-obnoxious, womanizing, snarky-Damon Salvatore, she would be slightly impressed they'd found her in the depths of the library before sternly sending them away with their nonsense.

Damon introduced her to the band, which is the only family he has. He includes her in his song-writing methods, a whimsical adventure that led to drinking copious amounts of whiskey. He even attempted to teach her how to play the guitar, but she's still shied toward Stefan's keyboard lessons.

Bonnie, usually reserved and polite, slowly blossomed into a vibrant and buoyant version of herself.

She introduced him to her best friends, Matt and Elena, to which the latter fangirled and basically flung herself at him. She invites the band over for holidays she can't bear to spend alone. She even lets him sit with her as she studies, her most sacred time and process.

Now, in her blue and purple floral robe, with her hair in curlers and only have her fact painted, it doesn't startle her as the leather-clad man sets paper bags onto her counter.

"Hey, Bon, did you eat all the cookies I bought?" he inquires, unaware of her fury or half-ready state.

"I think you may have taken them to _your_ apartment." Bonnie crosses her arms under her breasts. "Not really sure _why_ you even have it, considering your rent is for _show_ now."

Her bitter tone causes him to lift his gaze. He raises a brow at the petite girl's appearance. "Why are _you_ getting all dolled up?"

The comment is harmless, especially coming from him-yet Bonnie feels a sting of _something_ she doesn't get. It sounds like she _shouldn't_ be going out, that she _never_ goes out. Which is true, but a fight bubbles in her.

"Well, I'm dating your best friend, remember?"

It'd been a sore topic for a few months, but she is dating Enzo. She doesn't know why Damon disapproves, but every time her love life comes up, his nose scrunches with disdain-as it is now.

"Oh, I remember," his grumble follows her into her room. "See, _my_ brain is intact. Yours, on the other hand..."

"Get out."

"Like, I _get_ it- he roofied you or brainwashed you, and now you're all heart-eyes-emoji for-"

" _Screw you_."

"Oh, I know you'd love too, but you'd be late to screwing _Enzo_ ," he volleys back easily. She'd usually be embarrassed by the mention of her sex life, but his sarcastically humor is uncharacteristic of him now. Maybe before they were friends, but now? She hears the springs of her bed as he flops onto it. "Where are you lovebirds going?"

"None of your business."

"You'd think you'd be grateful that I introduced you to the _love of your life_ ," he says casually as he hugs Ms. Cuddles, her childhood teddy bear. Bonnie stops filing through her dresses for a moment. "Is this the thanks I get?"

"You're frustrating," she finally counters.

"Because I'm somehow both charming and handsome?" She throws him an exasperated look. He smiles brightly, causing her stomach to twist and untwist.

"Because no matter how many times I throw you out, you just don't seem to get the hint!"

Her outburst silences the room. She finally picks a low-cut blue dress. She'd only worn it once, to some social mixer for school, and Elena had made her buy it, but she remembers the warm attention it garnered and Matt's wandering eyes. She turns to toss it onto the bed, next to Damon now sitting at the edge, and returns to the mirror. His ice eyes burn into her back.

"What?"

"Nothing."

His foul mood darkens his eyes. She's noticed him get like this from time to time but never found the correlating factor.

"Right."

She regards her reflection to apply fake lashes. Caroline showed her how to put them on in record time. She's become a pro. She smiles at herself, an altered version of herself, before sneaking a glance at Damon through the mirror. His jaw is set, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"What do you see in him?"

She never thought she would be dating a celebrity, wearing the fanciest dresses in her closet and obscene amounts of makeup, but she felt good about this new era of her life. She ignores Damon's sour expression as she takes her dress into the closet. She reemerges unzipped and turns expectantly to him.

He complies, though the air pregnant with his question. She unravels her hair from curlers before she gives in.

"He is sweet. He cares. He _listens_." She purses her lips and mental reminds herself to apply lipstick before she leaves. "He's charming. Funny. He's always... _present_."

A curler falls from her hand as Damon grips her wrist. Her eyes blaze in the presence of his own dangerous gaze. His jaw is still locked and his nostrils slightly flared. She's only seen him this way a handful of times, on matters that really hurt him.

"You don't know Enzo like I do."

" _You_ don't know Enzo like _I_ do," she counters. She tears her arm away from him. Her body is steaming. "Who the hell do you think you are? Certainly not my father."

"Look, I've kept my thoughts to myself-"

"Like hell you-"

"-is not a good guy, Bonnie. I've _told_ you the stor-"

"-like you're any bet-"

"-and he has a-"

"-ways, it doesn't matter what you-"

"-and who the hell is Enzo to be between your legs anyways?"

" _That_ is none of your business!" Her voice pierces the tense air, her eyes shine with murder. It's like they've just met, that they are in that horrible first few months. Bonnie shakes. "If I want him there, it's _my_ decision."

"You're my best friend, damn it." His voice is even, but an emotion Bonnie can't place taints his tone. "Don't girls consult their best friends about guys they date?"

"What am I, Damon, fifteen years old?"

"You're certainly acting like a hormonal _teenager_ -carelessly letting anyone into your bed."

A slap stings Bonnie's hand and Damon's face.

" _Shi-_ "

"What the _fuck_ is your problem, Damon?" she finally erupts. Her voice trembles. "You've been in this _crotchety_ mood for weeks, and now, you're accusing me of being a _slut_? _Please_ explain yourself before I-"

"Before you what."

She honestly doesn't know, but her eyes are glossy. He must notice because he sighs and covers his face with both hands. Hiding in shame won't save him now.

"I'd been sleeping with Katherine again."

This is not the direction she'd expect this conversation to go.

"So, I guess you could say I'm projecting," he waves a dramatic hand and rolls his eyes. Like it pains him to even admit how pathetic he actually is.

"I didn't know you were seeing her again."

"That was the point."

"Well, just because you fucked up and now you're lonely doesn't meant you can just-"

"Bonnie, wait," he interrupts. The anger winds her, and she just stands there, deflated, and waits for him to continue. "I... I finally cut things off with her. For good."

"Well..." Bonnie is confused. "Good."

"Yeah, 'good'," he echoes. Then chuckles, but something dark lies beneath it. "I even bought dinner to celebration my newfound freedom-but I should have, uh..." He smoothes his hair back. "Look, you were right. I was lonely. And I thought I could just..."

"Fill the void," she completes with an encouraging nod.

Without warning, he barks a laugh. Bonnie actually startles. She doesn't know what the hell was happening, but she knew time is ticking away, and Enzo'd be there soon-

"Yeah, I guess I was trying to fill a void," he agrees. His gaze cuts to hers, steady and intense, seemingly peering into her soul. "I was trying to transfer my feelings to her, but there's no way I'll ever get over you."

Her whole body _burns_. If she moves, she'll combust. Did he just...? The hardened look in those familiar blue eyes softens into something deeper. He buries his head in his hands again. She doesn't know what to do. Idly, she hears her phone buzz on the vanity-probably Enzo reminding her he's sending a car, saying he's excited for their date-but she doesn't move. Can't.

"My life has been a clusterfuck, Bon," he words muted by his palms. He raises his eyes to meet hers. "When I was told enough to get out of the cycle, I didn't. But you..." The twist and untwist of her stomach is excruciating. It labors her breathing, and she wonders if her heart is loud enough for him to hear. "You've anchored me, Bonnie. I don't know how, but there's something damn near _magically_ about you."

"Damon..."

"You're still a pain in my ass, Bennett," she scoffs at his words, "but somewhere down the line, you've changed me." He clasps her hands and guides her to stand between his knees; even as he sits, she's only a few inches taller than him. "You've uncovered something in me, something good. You've _believed_ in me. You've _fundamentally_ changed me, Bonnie Bennett."

"Goddamn it, Damon," she whispers and combs his hair back with her fingers. "You're a goddamn idiot."

"I know. I know there's Enzo, and our frien-"

She takes his face into her hands and presses her lips onto his. Their mouths move slowly and passionately, like they've met before. He slips a hand around her waist, and the other into the freed half of her hair. She presses her body against his, desperate to close the space that had been between them for too long.

"You should shut me up like that more often," his lips barely part from hers before closing in for another peck. She tries not to smile as she pecks his back.

"Or you could just shut up and kiss me again."

* * *

 **Very similar to the original, because, let's be real, this is how it all began! Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**


	3. Picture Day

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep any eye out for any differences!**

 **I'm so glad to be back!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** Language, crude humor, mentions of alcohol/drug abuse

* * *

 **2/?**

 **Picture Day**

 **Word Count:** 1291

 **Prompt:** **"What can I say? I'm good at what I do."**

* * *

Anyone witness to Damon in front of a camera knew: the man loves photoshoots. He'd never admit it, but his smolder says it all. He never wanted a nine-to-five job, couldn't see an ordinary or conventional future for himself. Being a musician isn't his dream, but it sure does the trick.

What Damon doesn't love is early wake-up calls. Or mornings. Or talkative drivers. Sudden traffic stops. Fussy warbrobists. Changing into numerous outfits before returning to the first.

Or people. Light. Noise. _Breathing_.

Damon shuffles into the bright studio, wearing both sunglasses and hungover scowl. People greet him-offer a coffee, a water, a bagel, a muffin, a breakfast fucking burrito-but he just raises his coffee from Wardrobe to silence them.

Why is Makeup always on the opposite side of the room?

Caroline, twisted in her chair with glittery amused eyes, aims her phone at him. Vaguely, he hears her commentary, but his focus is on _not_ passing out or vomiting. He revels in the fact he has a chair with his name literally on it, that Rose will soon cover any evidence of bourbon, cocaine, strippers, or _any_ trace of last night.

"Good morning to you, too." Caroline knows the pitch of her voice will make him cringe. Hence the mischievous grin.

Even through tinted lens, she's a beam. Her blonde hair is tightly wound in curlers, and her face is uncharacteristically bare. For a long time, the only way he'd see her without makeup was when he'd wake up next to her.

"I better not see you talking shit on Snapchat," he teases but the agony of his headache makes an appearance in his tone.

Her giggle is downright childish. "Then don't watch my Story."

Damon groans. Even the internal volume from that makes him wince. Right now, all he wants is to disappear under his expense duvet and _sleep_. All day. Maybe wake for video games or takeout, but mainly, stay in bed. That stickler neighbor of his would probably love that, honestly.

Speaking of which, Damon tilts his head in Caroline's direction. "What does it mean if I google my neighbor and find nothing."

Damon was next door to Bonnie for two weeks before they'd met. The first couple of days, he'd be depressed, leaving his awesome bachelor pad in the city and all that, so he played video games to fill the void. When that didn't work, he spent nights out on the town, crashing with Enzo whenever he couldn't make it home.

Meeting that little fierce rule-abiding grad student, however, has been trippier than any drug. He's noticed how she's not exempt from his looks, but his fame has no affect. She's unafraid to march over to his apartment and demand he turns down his music or shuts up whichever lover is in his bed. And every time, he says something flirty, and she rolls those pretty jade eyes.

"You googled your neighbor?"

"Yeah." He shrugs and immediately regrets the jerky motion. "Making sure I'm not living next to a criminal or something."

"Yeah, no, I get _why_ you would, but I didn't think _you_ would." She shoots him a cheeky smile. "It either means they're really good at hiding their lives or they're boring af."

"Probably the latter," he mutters to himself. "I've never seen her leave the apartment for anything other than work or school."

"You're living next to a college girl?" Caroline scoffs. "I'm surprised you haven't bedded her yet."

He cracks a smirk. Caroline was a college girl when they dated. "Yeah, well, when I say there isn't a drop of fun to this girl, I'm not exaggerating."

"Oh, slightly unrelated, but did Stefan end up going out with you and Enzo last night?"

"Why would he...?"

"Dude, I sent you a text."

He pulls his phone from an inner jacket pocket and taps her thread. The block of a message sits at the bottom, but the reply bar contains an embarrassing string of incoherent letters and numbers he doesn't remember typing.

"Yeah, no, definitely didn't get it."

"Liar." Her contempt slips into a worried sigh. "Did you even read it?"

Damon skims the message and forces a cautious nod. "Stefan's love life sucks," he summarizes.

"He had a fight with _the girlfriend_." Being his best friend, Caroline is wildly protective of trusting-and-overly-affectionate Stefan. Her feelings are clear on the current relationship. "He's in a mood."

"He's always in a mood."

"Which is why I told him to take him with you."

"Okay, _Mom_." Ignoring her flat stare, his shoulders hitch up slightly. "Wasn't really Steffy's scene."

"Regardless, he needed it."

"If you were so concerned, why didn't _you_ hang out with him?" This conversation is taking too much effort. "Or your lapdog boyfriend."

"I was busy," she says between gritted teeth.

"Yeah, with me," another voice joins them.

Tyler Lockwood, head of security for the band and also the mentioned lapdog boyfriend, has Enzo in tow. If Damon looks lousy, Enzo looks _miserable_. He crashes into the end chair, next to Damon, and groans.

"Hey, baby." Tyler drops a kiss into Caroline's smiling mouth. "I found this guy arguing with a cop outside."

"He was interrupting my piss," Enzo protests. Then, he leans to Damon. "Remind me never to score from some rich kid again." Damon scoffs, rolls his eyes. They cut their shit all wrong.

"I really hope that conversation is completely legal," Tyler comments though he only has eyes for Caroline. They are so goofily in love.

"Yeah, mate, totally." Enzo stretches back in his chair and covers his face with his hands.

A flock of giggly and chatty makeup artists come over. Rose, the head of the department and Damon's on-again-off-again lover, greets the group sheepishly.

"Sorry, there's another shoot that was a little more involved than we thought."

"All is well, luv," Enzo returns with a charming smile. Being his wingman, Damon sees it often. Especially for a fellow Brit. Rose nearly blushes.

"Just do your magic," Damon winks at her as he removes his sunglasses. She smirks and turns to get her supplies. Damon tilts his head wistfully. God bless leggings.

"Where's Steffy?" Enzo inquires.

"Present." The last member of the band sits in his chair between Damon and Caroline. He wraps Caroline in a one-armed hug and fist bumps Tyler on her other side. "Sorry I'm late."

Damon shoots Caroline a _he-doesn't-look-like-he's-in-a-mood_ look, but she looks like as baffled as he is chipper. "No problem, bro," Damon finally replies.

"I was working on a new song last night, and I was showing it to Lex, so..." He unlocks his phone, missing Caroline's expression blanks at the mention of his other best friend's name, and taps to a music file. "Here..."

The band leans in as the piano melody start. Enzo's thumbs tap against his chair handles; Caroline hums through different harmonies when Stefan's vocals begin. Damon's brain already constructs half of a guitar solo. Despite his hangover, he has to admit Stefan is probably their best songwriter.

The best part: it's neither a whiny breakup song nor a dopey love song.

"Nice," Enzo nods seriously. Caroline's nod is more fervent and disruptive to the makeup artist starting to work on her face. "Sounds like a summer hit, honestly."

"What can I say? I'm good at what I do," Stefan grins confidently.

Damon is slightly more impressed by his attitude and adds, "Who knew you had it in you, brother?"

Rose turns sharply to Damon, and he waggles his eyebrows at her. She paints something cold over his face that soothes every hangover pain he currently experiences, and he forgets all about his seductive facial expressions.

Yeah, he's definitely showing her his appreciation later.

* * *

 **New insight on Damon's rock star life and duties. I want the revamped version to describe both lives of Bonnie and Damon. Couples aren't just pieces of one another, they are their own whole entities meshing into one.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**


	4. Thursdays

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep any eye out for any differences!**

 **I'm so glad to be back!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** Mentions of infidelity,

* * *

 **3/?**

 **Thursdays**

 **Word Count:** 1286

 **Prompt: "Any other day of the week would have been better."**

* * *

Thursdays are the bane of Bonnie's existence.

Not only is it an early day-which she learned to regret _right_ after the add/drop deadline-but it is also her longest. Three classes, almost back to back, with a short lunch break-either with Elena, Matt, or a textbook-followed by volunteering at a soup kitchen for the homeless, and then her return to campus as a TA for Intro to Criminology. To top it all off, to meet her personal goal, she gets out of bed an hour early to hit the gym.

Fifteen minutes every Thursday morning is devoted to remembering the bigger picture: she is bettering herself, she is on the fast-track toward her career, she is an inspiration to aspiring law students, she is helping the community-but as a strong advocate of sleeping in...

Every Thursday, a piece of her soul dies.

By lamplight, she packs her duffel bag that will sit in Matt's car until she returns to campus, and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. She shoulders it and sleepily fumbles with her lock. At the end of the hall, the elevator chimes and obnoxious singing closes in. Not loud enough to wake the neighbors, but any noise is too much at this hour.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

She scowls at the sight of a blitzed Damon, staggering toward his apartment-and, inadvertantly, her. Why is she always the target of his aggravating existence?

Since she's first met him, the miserable eve of a Civil Rights exam, he's been nothing but trouble. Talk about a neighbor from hell. He still plays his blaring music in the middle of the night. He has sex at the weirdest times throughout the day. He even plays pranks on her, aka knocking on her door, then running away. This goddamn man-child. Whenever they are caught leaving their apartments at the same time, he spews a new nickname, and her face reddens... at his childish idiocy, of course.

Needless to say, she has a search for new apartments always open on her browser.

" _Sleeping Beauty_ ," he drawls. "You're awake!"

"Well, yes. People usually sleep during the _night_."

"Not m-"

Suddenly, a set of limbs tumble toward her. She can sidestep the mess of a man, but her kind reflexes are too fast. He drapes himself over her as she manages not to buckle under his weight. He reeks of whiskey and Old Spice poorly masking body odor. She has no idea how girls like Elena are into this wreck. Maybe because they don't have the displeasure of knowing him.

She immediately pushes him away, toward his apartment, with, " _Don't_ touch me."

"Ooo, _prickly_." He adjusts his jacket and leans against his door with a lazy smirk. "You wouldn't _imagine_ the night I've had."

"I don't _care_ about the night you've had," she folds her arms and turns her nose up in an indignant and horribly cliched way, "because I rather claim I know nothing when the police come for you."

"Don't you mean ' _if_ '? Amusement in those half-lidded sapphire eyes does something funny to her stomach. Dismissing it, she tightens her crossed arms. "Awww, Bonnie bear, you wouldn't bail me out?"

"I have better things to do."

And to follow through with the cliche, she turns on her heel and heads to the elevator. Whether she'd admit it, she swings her hips a little more than usual, knowing the pig is watching her leave.

* * *

On the subway, Bonnie gave her seat to a pregnant woman towing a babbling toddler. The woman smiled apologetically and held her toddle with an iron grip as the train lurched into motion.

After listening to Elena's poorly constructed excuse-there is no mistaking the male voice in the background asking Elena to return to him-Bonnie allowed the tiredness of her body to guide her home. She felt like she was floating the entire way home; muscle memory led her from the station to her door.

Maybe she'll skip the soup kitchen...

The elevator opens, and she see the mass of a human being sitting between her door and her neighbor's. When she nears cautiously, she rolls her eyes.

"Literally, any other day of the week would have been better." She nudges the slumped over Damon with her sneaker. He's drooling. She grimaces. "Hey, idiot, time to wake up."

He stirs but just to fold his arms and cross his ankles. Despite his disheveled appearance, unconsciousness makes him look cute. Bonnie rolls her eyes at herself.

"Oh my God, there's your fan club is here!"

He jolts and gets to his feet. Wide and panicked red eyes search the vacant hallway and land on Bonnie... shaking with laughter.

"You _suck_."

"Thanks." Remnants of a smile on her face, she nods toward his door. "I think you'd be more comfortable in there."

"Yeah?"

Her nose scrunches. "Maybe."

Ignoring her suggestion, his narrowed eyes gloss over her. "You left in yoga pants this morning."

"Wow, you _would_ remember that." She rolls her eyes. It's hard not to. "I changed at the gym?"

"Shame."

He's only, maybe, half a foot taller than her, and still, she feels incredibly tiny as he looms close. His eyes, back in their usual lazily-lidded state, spark with a dull curiosity, and she idly wonders if they stay like that because they are so shockingly bright.

She raises a challenging brow.

"You lost your key, didn't you?"

"The landlord won't be back 'til five."

Bonnie sighs. She thought her proven accusation will make her feel triumphant, but after her morning mantra of the bigger picture, she just feels obligated to step aside and allow him into her unlocked apartment.

"You're inviting _me_ into your home?"

She hates that, even with her eyes screwed shut in dread, his voice gives his smirking amusement away.

"Get in here before I change my mind."

She feels his body pass her. She slips her shoes off by the front door and flips the light on in the kitchen. In the corner of her eye, Damon inspects her living room and sits on her couch. And his boots landing on her coffee table captures her full attention.

"Boots off."

"Yes ma'am."

His immediate obedience almost shocks her, but she supposes _beggars can't be choosers_. He takes off his boots as she turns to open her cupboards.

"All I have is cereal," she calls over her shoulder. She needs to make a grocery trip. As she mentally makes a list, she offers, "Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes?"

"She looks like a child, she eats like a child," she hears his mutter. "College's really got you cutting corners, huh?"

Bonnie marches over and tugs his arm. "All right, rock star, back into the hallway you go." His laugh fills her apartment as he shakes her feeble attempts.

"You got any alcohol?" His eyes glimmer. "You must have some kind of boxed wine or something, College girl."

"I don't drink."

"Sadly, I can see that."

"You already smell like you drank an entire liquor store," she ignores what she assumes was supposed to be an insult, "so, even if I did, you'd be getting nothing. You need something in your stomach. So, choose."

"No contest," he delivers between gritted teeth, his eyes never leave hers. "Obviously Lucky Charms."

She returns with the box, and when he doesn't question where a bowl, spoon, and milk are, she sits next to him as he shoves his hand into the box. She figures, since she skipped the soup kitchen, _this_ is her charitable act for the week.

"Just don't eat all the marshmallows," she warns, waiting for her own handful of dry cereal.

* * *

 **It's only a little different, I think. What do** _you_ **think? Let me know!**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**


	5. A Band that Plays Together

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep any eye out for any differences!**

 **I'm so glad to be back!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** none

* * *

 **4/?**

 **A Band that Plays Together**

 **Word Count:** 1322

 **Prompt: "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous."**

* * *

Damon unlocks Stefan's door with a reluctantly given spare key and is met by a more embarrassing scene than any female grinding on his brother's lap or any bromantic moment between him and Tyler.

On an old armchair, Stefan is barricaded by his keyboard, his laptop, his mini synthesizer, and the control-board for his personal sound system. The unplugged wire of his headphones—which cover his eyes—is pressed between his lips, and a hand is nestled into a bag of Doritos next to him, as he stares deeply into the contents of his laptop screen.

Like during any jam session, the rest of the living room is set for the other members—a microphone stand in the corner though Caroline can reach greater volumes without it, an electronic drum kit across the room though Enzo hates its inauthenticity, and an empty spot next to an amplifier, where Damon sets his guitar case down

"Hello brother." He sheds his disguise—a brown beanie, mirrored aviator sunglasses, an army green bomber jacket. Stefan raises his eyebrows and nothing more. "Did you lay down some notes already?"

"Oh." Caroline balances a whiskey bottle and four glasses on a tray as she enters the room. "Hi."

"Hey Carebear." He pulls her involuntary body into his side and kisses the top of her head. He knows she's hiding her amusement with a grimace. "Long time no see."

"Not long enough," she refers to earlier this week. She adjusts her fluffy cardigan once he releases her. "Is Enzo on his way?"

"Yeah. Teacher conference." He sniffs the air and inquires, "Where's your boytoy?"

Caroline scowls and replies, "You know, Tyler defends your _life_ , like, every day? The least you can do is be nice to him."

"The _least_ I can do is _nothing_ , and that's exactly what I'm doing." And with a cheeky smile he adds, "And I wasn't talking to you." He turns his attention to Stefan.

Grinning, Stefan shoots a glance at Tyler's girlfriend, and humors Damon. "He dropped her off. Mason's in town, and Caroline isn't too pleased."

She pours them both a drink. Then one for herself. Which she downs in one throw. "He's skeevy, and I do not like him." She pours herself another. "He's not a good influence."

"Fair." He cares, but not really, but luckily, she knows and understands. More importantly, Damon knew Mason and agreed with her assessment.

"Oh, before I forget, I have a date tomorrow, so—"

There's a knock at the door, and Caroline springs to answer it. Fleeing the conversation, no doubt. Damon just gives his brother a half-hearted wink, and Enzo barges into the room, straight for the bourbon.

"Dude," Stefan comments, his brow furrows. He'd never been Enzo's biggest fan, but being in the band has formed a bond.

"Someone talking shit about your kid, _again_?" Damon takes a tentative sip from his drink, and Enzo's head lobs up and down.

"I still don't get how that's possible," Caroline says, "when Tommy is literally a golden child."

Damon sneaks a glance at Stefan, but the phrase had piqued his interest too, and their gazes meet in an awkward tension.

"Apparently, _too_ creative," Enzo steams, unaware of the brotherly conflict, "because he's always drawing. On his classwork, on his homework… It's not like he's drawing dead bodies!"

"What _is_ he drawing…?" Stefan tunes back into the conversation with a notoriously raised brow. Enzo rolls his eyes and shows them a picture on his phone.

"I don't get it." Damon squints at the stereotypical child's drawing: a smiley face sun in the corner, grass, flowers, a few birds and butterflies, two stick figure people.

"Tommy says it's him and Justin," Enzo explains with a sigh.

"Oh, that kid he has a huge crush on?" Damon narrows his eyes. "You're sending your kid to some ass-backward school where they don't accept that your kid could be gay?"

"It's a Catholic school, D," Caroline nearly hisses. "We might be cool with it, but they probably think we're going to hell."

"Which is basically what she said," Enzo huffs. "I swear, I was ready to choke that nun."

"Sounds like a raunchy porno."

Caroline rolls her eyes, and Stefan snickers, but Enzo stands and announces, "I need to hit something. Let's smash out this song."

* * *

After many angry drum solos, after some skilled and not so skilled guitar lines, after some fluid and some clumsy harmonies, after some rightly pressed notes and some wrong ones, the night entered into a drunken phase. The bottle of bourbon met its defeat. And Enzo shouted about how proud he is of his gay son, how happy he'd be to have a son-in-law. And Caroline bitched about Mason, and his nomadic nature, and how much he tells Tyler to follow their family's whack traditions… and let it slip that she wanted him to die. And Damon offered to kill him if it would just _shut_ her up. And Stefan rambled and rambled about how much he loves the band, how he loves playing music with his best friends, and how much he loves Caroline's voice—

And that was when even a drunk Damon decided it was time for bed. Like usual, Damon ushered Caroline to Stefan's bed—to which she'd grimace and say, "ew get away from me"—and he helped Stefan unfold the futon—to which he'd pat Damon's face before falling right asleep—and he pointed to the couch—to which an always angry-drunk-Enzo would fling himself onto—and he went to sleep on the other couch. And like usual, it was uncomfortable and he'd have to toss and turn before he found a spot that didn't kill him, but he'd experienced worse.

A knock on the door wakes him. The sun infiltrates his senses, he's ready to die. He flips over and zombie groans in Stefan's general direction— _make it stop, for the love of all that is decent in this world_ —but Stefan isn't even on the futon, and the futon isn't even a bed anymore. Caroline is pretzeled on it with her coffee.

"So, I was thinking about something when I woke up," she mutters. Her messy hair is up, and she looks like the college girl he'd met in a karaoke bar. He rubs a hand over his scrunched features. "If you want, I know a P.I.—"

"Of course you do."

"—and if you really find your neighbor suspicious—"

"She's not _suspicious_ , just boring."

"—then I can get him to look into her for you."

Look into her? Damon can't even muster enough energy for a smirk let alone a dirty joke. He just shakes his hands at her before covering his face with them.

"I got it!" Stefan announces… as if anyone has even bothered to acknowledge the knock. His hair is wet and gelled, and he's already dressed in one of his notorious "interview outfits"—a button up with rolled sleeves and the neck undone a button too far, slacks, comfortable-yet-stylish shoes—and it clicks who might be at the door.

"Oh, I thought, for sure, you'd forget," a purr comes from the doorway.

"How could I ever?"

Damon twitches at the sound of smacking lips, when he catches Caroline's professional sleuth gaze on him. He forces his protesting body into an upright position.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Damon rolls his eyes. "Tell that to your face."

"It's nothing."

"Spit it _out_ , Blondie."

"It's just…" she pauses to drink her coffee, but he knows its actually for dramatic effect because she is extra as hell, "if I didn't know any better… I'd say you're jealous."

Stefan and _the girlfriend_ are still making out in the doorway, as if he doesn't have an apartment full of prior guests, and Damon hears the smitten giggles and low, lovey voices—but he forces a sharp smile.

"You're transferring your feelings again."

"And you're denying yours."

* * *

 **More band bonding moments! The band is all Damon has, really, so you'll be seeing a lot of them. Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**


	6. Ethereal

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep any eye out for any differences!**

 **I'm so glad to be back!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** Alcohol, infidelity, alluded sexual content (aka Damon being an awful dick)

* * *

 **5/?**

 **Ethereal**

 **Word Count:** 1778

 **Prompt: "Don't give me that look. Makes me feel pathetic."** _(slightly altered)_

* * *

"Do you know what I fucking love?"

Doesn't matter the day, _Velato_ is always packed. After all, the rich, the famous, and the gorgeous don't have anything more pressing than an exclusive nightclub experience. Damon peers at Rose, who is as red as her name, as her mouth purses.

"Free drinks whenever we come here." Damon's brows rise. "You've said it a few _hundred_ times, love."

His face spreads into a giddy smile as he surveys the kaleidoscope of color and bodies. Rose, of course, is right. She knows him _very_ well. But, probably because, she _also_ fucking loves the free drinks she _also_ receives, just by being with him. She signals the bartender blindly by raising her empty glass. Damon leans on his elbows against the counter.

"Not that you need them," she adds, and she means the _free_ drinks. Her thoughts lag after her second martini and thirty rigorous minutes on the dance floor. She'll be ready to leave in an hour, and no doubt, she'll be horny. Or, at least, that's what Damon is counting on.

It's all statistics at this point, really.

The bartender returns with a Cosmo and a straight bourbon, and Damon drops a fifty-dollar tip. _Super_ casually.

"Maybe I don't _need_ the free drinks, but don't you think I _deserve_ them? I think so."

Rose laughs, her nose crinkling in a ridiculous way, and Damon thrives off it. Of all the women breezing in and out of his life—including Caroline—Rose is probably the closest resemblance of a girlfriend. Not that he would get ahead of himself and settle his reckless lifestyle of one-night-stands, but he definitely didn't want to screw anything between them.

She nods behind him. There is a doe-eyed young woman wearing a tight sequined dress and a bedazzled veiled crown.

Her awestruck eyes make him feel immortal.

"It _is_ you," he barely hears over the thumping bass.

"It is me," he confirms with a signature smirk. He over plays the once-over, and while he's waiting for a blushed reaction, she, instead, becomes more confident. "Did you want me to sign that?"

"If you don't mind," she sets down a pen and napkin. "My friends told me this place had the occasional celebrity, but I never thought—"

"More than just the 'occasional celebrity'," Rose speaks up. " _Velato_ is one of the most secure clubs in the city."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

Damon glances over his shoulder, sharing an amused look with Rose, though she clearly finds the situation more irritating than humorous.

"She's my company for the night," Damon returns his attention to his fan. "Anyways, _Velato_ ," he adds extra flare to his fading accent, "is Italian for 'veiled'."

"Of course you speak Italian." Her words fall under her breath, but just loud enough for him to hear. He smirks again.

"If you don't mind me asking," Rose quips again, "how exactly did _you_ get into the most exclusive club around here?"

"It's my bachelorette party," the girl explains matching Rose's edged tone. "My friends paid off the bouncer… And I'm pretty sure this," she gestures to her breasts spilling over the top of her dress, "had something to do with it."

Maybe it's the alcohol or the atmosphere—or maybe it's the forbidden nature or the way her eyes get all starry whenever his meet hers, but he hums his approval.

"No doubt."

She raises a brow and leans in a bit closer. Her eyes, dark, sassy, glittery, coupled with her thick hair framing her wolf-in-sheepskin innocent face—

"Wanna dance?" he offers too quickly, and he hears Rose's snort. He has a type, he knows, but what he can't have has always enticed him more and ended up tasting a whole lot sweeter.

The girl accepts with a quick nod—who would refuse a dance with a _rock star_?—but she understands the subtext. Her eyes cut to Rose in the background, a small scowl on her pretty mouth.

"What about-?"

While she's reading between the lines, Damon can't stop thinking about getting between her legs.

"Rose, babe, may I—"

"I have to call Trevor anyways. He's probably wondering where I am." He doesn't have to look to know she's bored by his usual antics. Besides, he couldn't look away from those bedroom eyes even if he tries. "And I'll give you an extra twenty minutes while I find a delicious twenty-something for myself."

From the moment he whisks her body onto the dancefloor to her legs wrapped around him, his name a heavy incantation echoing in the men's bathroom, Damon feels like a fucking god.

* * *

Bonnie has only had one immediately neighbor before Damon. His name was Connor. They had moved in around the same time. He'd just graduated as an engineering major, and while she wasn't technologically inclined, they'd gotten along well.

One summer, her air conditioning unit failed her, and instead of the creepy landlord stopping by for a few hours in her stuffy apartment, Connor had come over and tinkered with the unit. Naturally, she'd repay him with homemade dinners, and if anyone were to stop by—like Elena had once—they'd think the two were budding a new relationship. Bonnie'd blush and swat away any such assumption.

Until she'd discovered Connor's flaw. She'd seen a handful of men stop by, and she'd witnesses hushed conversations in the halls whenever she was coming or leaving. He'd stop and greet her with that dashing smile of his, and she'd be lulled into ease. One day, his apartment door had been ajar and fueled by worry, she'd peered in. A few men were in the apartment _she'd_ never actually been in, and a sixth man handed Connor a wad of cash while one of the remaining stuffed guns into a duffel.

Whether she'd admit she was falling for him, it hurt to call the police—and consequently, get him evicted. She couldn't watch illegal activity just _happen_. She couldn't look herself in the mirror as a _lawyer-to-be_ and let some _arms-dealer_ , no matter how sweet or handsome, get in the way of her morals.

All these Connor memories came to mind because, while she'd been grading some papers at her tiny dining table, the elevator chimed open, and Damon's voice echoed down the hall.

"Her wedding is in two days," she hears his chortle, " _and I banged the fuck out of her_."

Bonnie grimaces and peeks out her door. He isn't talking to himself—this time. He's draped over the shoulder of a harassed pixie-haired woman. Damon is making very little effort to walk on his own as he laughs and cheers for himself.

"Can cross _that_ off my bucket list," he stage-whispers into the woman's ear.

Scandalized by her own innate drive to rush to another's aid, Bonnie pushes her glasses up and all-but-marches over to the distressed woman.

As she offers a hand, "Here, let me…" the woman knocks Bonnie's hand away and blocks her view of Damon.

"No, no, it's okay," a British accent rushes out of her mouth. Her voice lowers into a pressured whisper into Damon's ear. "He's just drunk," she says at a normal volume, "I've got him."

"Oh, is that _Bon-bon_?" Damon nearly pushes the woman over, and, inadvertently, wobbles on his own legs. He frowns as soon as he sees his own frowning neighbor. "You wear glasses?"

She still fusses to drag Damon along. "Darling, why don't we just-?"

"She _knows_ , Rose." He pauses and then belches. Both women grimace. "She knows, and she still hasn't ratted me out to the fangirls."

"Yet." Bonnie's eyes narrow. "It is becoming more and more tempting."

"Oh, I can show you temptation."

She rolls her eyes. Drunk Damon is the least appealing Damon of them all.

She situates her shoulder under his arm, granting his lady friend some relief. She's never actually seen Damon so disheveled around one of his lovers, but, to be fair, she's never seen Damon on his way to his apartment with one either. She's only seen the mornings after. Maybe this woman is different.

"Are you going to spend the night?"

"So, I can hold your hair back while you puke and tell me about the time you fucked a bride-to-be?" Rose scoffs, and Bonnie is suddenly in love with her can't-give-a-fuck-about-Damon attitude. "No, thanks, love, I have a suspicious husband to return to."

Bonnie tries her best to keep a neutral face as Rose finally retrieves Damon's key. Maybe Rose isn't too different after all. They maneuver through the box towers that fill his living room. They unceremoniously shove him onto the bed, and he groans.

"Why are you still in boxes?" Bonnie inquires.

"I'm not in a box," he replies, and he sounds so sincere, he almost sounds adorable. Bonnie shuts down the thought immediately. "Shoes," he points.

Rose rolls her eyes and nods to Bonnie to take the other foot. They help him undress—well, Rose does the undresses, Bonnie does the folding—and then Rose gets a phone call, and Bonnie stands next to a tucked in naked Damon.

"Do you get hungover when you drink this much?" Bonnie asks. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, so she tucks them under her arms.

"I know I'm down right _ethereal_ , Bon, but I am but a mere mortal." He peeks between his dark lashes, then mumbles, " Don't give me that look. Makes me feel pathetic."

Bonnie doesn't know what her face is currently doing, but she quickly tries to neutralize it. Not that it matters because his eyes droop shut. Never has she felt anything other than pure annoyance with this neighbor-from-hell, but here, she stands with blooming guilt.

This is the first time she's seen Damon as a peer rather than a child, the first time she's seen him as a person and not a celebrity.

"That was Tr…" Rose sighs and presses a hand to her forehead. Bonnie immediately wants to offer her a cup of tea and her comfiest pajamas. "I think I'm staying here tonight. Relationship problems," she confides as if it couldn't be resolved by _not_ being alone with a notoriously sinful rock star. "Thanks for your help. I'm Rose, by the way."

"Bonnie," she gives a tight-lipped smile, "and you're welcome." Then, she dares to say, "If you need anything, I'm right next door."

Rose smiles politely and begins to undress, and Bonnie ducks out and into her own apartment. She stands in her living room, holding her head in her hands, and wonders why she's like this and what the hell just happened.

* * *

 **We all know Damon isn't a good guy, but in the previous version of this story, we didn't see how Bonnie's influence changes him. It was actually really hard to write him this way (such a fuckboy), but it'll all work for the good! Or at least, it should. Let me know what you think about this!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**


	7. Like A Good Neighbor

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep an eye out for any differences!**

So I made a mistake before - I meant for this version to be in the same format as the old one, where I told you the beginning and the end, and the rest of the chapters are the trope enemies-to-friends and friends-to-something-else and friends-to-lovers. So, I've been putting the following tag on each of chapters (and added it to the first 5 as well):

 **You know the Beginning, you know the End, but what happened in between?**

 _ **Replies to Reviews the end.**_

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** none

* * *

 **6/?**

 **Like a Good Neighbor**

 **Word Count: 1255**

 **Prompt: "Was that supposed to frighten me? It didn't, but I'll pretend it did."** ( _altered_ )

* * *

Nothing is scarier than the elevator ride up to his floor.

Lockwood Security covers his apartment building—and Caroline's, and Enzo's, and Stefan's—but it doesn't stop that stifling anxiety that increases with every chime announcing he's past the next floor. It doesn't end until the steel doors slide open to an empty hall.

Damon secretly—not so secretly—fears rabid fangirls. The occasional fan, girl or not, with eager eyes and too-wide smile, is okay. Anything more, and he is immediately turned off. People aren't his strongest suit, but _fangirls_ are the creatures of nightmares. He has heard one too many horror stories from celebrity friends: chased across town by fan clubs, cornered by overzealous fans, mailed personal items by _very_ creepy admirers.

He didn't need _anyone's_ lock of hair or wet panties.

Only halfway through a bar crawl with Enzo, and Damon called it quits for the night. Enzo wasn't thrilled—" _Oi, mate, you're growing soft!"_ —but it didn't stop him from continuing his own party. Ever since the night Bonnie found Rose practically dragging his drunk ass into his apartment, he ruminated on the fact _any_ person could have been in Bonnie's shoes. Not everyone is begrudgingly compassionate or overly selfless like his little neighbor.

Even _he_ would have sold himself out to the paparazzi, at least.

Besides, he wasn't in the mood to party. Bonnie would be proud. The band had spent a few hours being _responsible_ : meetings with potential producers, potential sponsors, potential collaborators. Usually Alaric, as their agent, initiated these meetings, but listening to Caroline talk business made Damon want to snap a guitar string and slice his own throat.

He humored Enzo's whim, but he just wanted to check out in front of the TV, with a movie or video games, until he passed out.

The elevator lurches to a stop. His spine straightens, his senses more alert. The day Bonnie woke him, crying 'fan-girl', his whole body was more wired than any substance could make him… as he is now.

The hall is empty… except the middle-aged woman a little down the hall. She was, clearly, a total babe when she was younger, but still—age barely touched her. He hasn't seen much of her, but they've left their apartments at the same time once or twice. A usual routine: he smirks, she averts her eyes. Now, she barely lifts her grocery-ridden arm to unlock her door.

Automatically, he jogs over, relieves her of her keys, and opens her door with a smile.

"Oh." She could very well be ten years older than him, but he knows that look. Like any woman with a pulse, she's mesmerized by him. Which is fair. He _is_ mesmerizing. "Thank you… James, right?"

He gives her a sly look like he's caught her snooping. "How'd you know?" He casually takes a few bags off her arm. He nods toward the open apartment, "May I?" She nods, and he gestures her to go first.

"I've… heard it." Occasionally, he brings home women believing his alias; he doesn't always use his fame to fill his bed. "Uh, that girl, next door, Betty—"

"Bonnie."

"Bonnie… she's often yelling at you, so…"

Nice save.

He chuckles, setting plastic bags on the kitchen counter. "She tends to do that. A lot. Says I'm a terrible neighbor." She sets hers next to his. "I feel like I've barely seen you around."

Her face is forever blushing. "I travel a lot, for work," she says, "I'm a professor, but I'm working on a new book, so…"

Not explaining—bragging. Why are people so transparent? Predictable?

Much like her sleek hair and business attire, her apartment is just as nice and pristine. She proudly displays all of her Duke University diplomas—for purely academic reasons, he's sure—but there are only a handful of photographs on the shelves.

Over her couch is a beautiful canvas print. "Is this a Pollock?"

She replies, "Yes," with an air of disbelief. He almost rolls his eyes. "It's called Number 32. I was obsessed with him in college, so my friends bought me a print, for my…" Stationed in front of the art, he glances at her rosy face. "For my birthday," she completes awkwardly.

Older than thirty-two, got it. Definitely not the worst he could do… or has done.

"I love his stuff. You can really see the labor and _feeling_ behind it." He studies the black splashes and splatters against white canvas. "Against popular opinion, I'd choose his black and white pieces over the colorful ones any day. There's something… honest about them."

"Life isn't always so colorful," she stands next to him, her arms folded, "life can be pretty mundane… singular."

"Black and white. Life and death."

"Bleak, but not entirely wr—"

"Miss Flemming?"

They share a look—Damon bounces his eyebrows, she blushes like a sixteen-year-old—and turn to the doorway. Bonnie, clutching a backpack strap, steps into the apartment cautiously.

"Oh, hi, Bob—"

"Hey, Bonnie," he interrupts before the woman botches her name _again_. His neighbor's gaze flattens in an instant… before curiosity picks it up, switching between the two. "How was school?" he starts with a singsong voice.

"Is everything okay, Miss Flemming?" she repeats pointedly. The question _is-he-bothering-you_ not so subtly hidden in her tone. "I saw your door open, so I—"

"It's _Doctor_ Flemming," she cuts, sounding her age, but quickly recovers, "but please, call me Isobel."

She's huffy. She's bothered. She's upset that Bonnie interrupted their moment. Damon tries to hold back a knowing smile.

"Everything is fine, thank you." Isobel sneaks a look at him, but his eyes are on Bonnie. "James was just helping me bring in groceries."

"Groceries." Her attention swipes from the counter, up to Damon. " _James_ helped you."

"I am very helpful."

"Yes, you are," sounds like something out of an awful porn, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Thank you very much again," she is flustered but doesn't forget to touch his arm in appreciation, of course, "but I have to—"

"Sure." He puts on his best smile. "See you around, Izzie."

"Good bye, Dr. Flemming!" Bonnie calls but the door is shutting. She immediately points to Damon. "Why did you help her?"

He pretends to bite at the digit in his face. She looks alarmed and takes a full step back.

"Why does anyone help anyone?" He points back at her. "Why did _you_ check on her, Judgy?"

"Because it is what I do," she counters as if it's obvious, as if she's _winning_. "I am a decent human being. You, on the other hand-"

"No good deed goes unpunished by you, does it?" he jabs. His smile is a knife.

"Because it doesn't undo the bad. She crosses her arms. "You may have the other tenants and the landlord fooled, but not me."

"Was that supposed to offend me?" His eyes widen dangerously. "It didn't, but let's pretend it did."

Her eyes bloom with something he can't place-regret, remorse, who the fuck cares?-before it sets into something more resolute. She unlocks her door.

"Just don't sleep with her."

He imitates her behind her back-who does she think she is, telling him what not to do? Usually, her self-righteous judgment doesn't irritate him that much, but, when she does into her apartment, he finds himself seething. He looks back to Isobel's door.

Being told he shouldn't do something just motivates him to do whatever the fuck he wants.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading, and thank you so much for sticking around. I still get e-mails telling me people are still following/favoriting, and I'm kinda like, floored. I'm still on board with this project, I've been reading _hella_ bamon** **fics to remotivate me** **(thanks Lee,** tarafina **here and** sarcasticfina **on Tumblr)** **. This isn't my best work, but you know when you just have to do The Thing in order to just keeping going? Yeah, there's this.**

 **Anyways thanks again for reading! Let me know what you think!**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**

 **P.S. If you have a prompt/scenario you'd like to see our beloved Bamon in, leave it in a review! Any Bamon song suggestions, please share them! Your reviews and thoughts give me life!**

* * *

 _Replies to Reviews in Chronological Order_

 **Guest** : Re: Bonnie cheating on Enzo, I guess she did? I didn't show the aftermath of, you know, after the kiss, but knowing Bonnie, and her past with cheating, she would immediately tell Enzo. I suppose it would be more IC of her to stop Damon, break up with Enzo first, and then continue. Sorry :(

 **JustStockton** : I'm so glad to be back too! Re: bamon sounding like bamon, you know, from the original, that's always my biggest fear. Re: flawed Damon, he is my favorite Damon. Like mushy Damon is good for ~feels~ but flawed Damon is why we like mushy Damon. It's hard to write someone with such little regard for anything, BUT I'm challenging myself lol. More flawed Damon on the way. Re: Rose, I think I'll be adding more of Rose too, 'cause that's one of the instances we see Damon care for a female that's not Elena. Re: Rose x Trevor, I needed something scandalous ;p Re: these knuckleheads, gotta love 'em, gotta write 'em. There's no way around it! Lol, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you're still on board!

 **bellavida0213:** Re: individual lives, that's exactly why I'm doing the rewrite! I wanted to show how their lives gradually began to merge into one another. I'm glad you like it! Re: the bamon fit, they fit really well together, you're right, and I'm realizing it more and more as I write! Re: "ding dong ditch", if you can imagine him knocking and running for just a *cough cough* chapter or two away *cough* Re: dynamic, they are a fab dynamic, and I'm having a fun time exploring it! Re: Katherine, _maaaaaybe_ (don't spoil it for the newbies!) lol, this b&b is definitely going to follow the old one, for the most part, but there are going to be some twists and shockers. Re: fuckboi!damon, lol, I couldn't keep him a murderous vampire, but I could keep him a womanizer, so I did lol. Again, welcome back, and thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

 **freckled98:** Re: the revamp, I'm glad you like the new version better, though I was just looking at how much I actually wrote for the old one, and I'm realizing there is so much more I want to do with this one, so it might be doubly long if I decide to keep most/all of the old content too? Whoa. Anyways! Re: Damon getting his shit together, he might... with a little help from a little friend. Lol thanks for reading and reviewing, and I'm so glad you've stuck around!

 **peppygeek** : Hello! I feel like I'm never seen a review from you before, so here's a warm welcome! I'm so glad you're here! Anyways, the revamped version is definitely going to be more angsty and layered, and while there'll be lighter chapters like the majority of the original, I definitely wanted to make the rewrite more cohesive, if that makes sense? Re: snark + banter, glad you like it! One of my biggest concerns is being true to _them_ because that's why we love them! Re: Stefan and Enzo, I'm really challenging myself with these two characters (and Enzo's kid) 'cause I'm not super connected to them and because my memory is shit, so I can't remember a damn thing before S6 (yikes). Re: the prompt, I _love_ it. I am definitely going to use it! Thanks sooooooo much for reading and reviewing!

 **DancesWithButterflies** : re: douche!damon, yes he is, and I kinda love it? It's a problem. Re: prompt, just wait :) Thanks so much for reading and for reviewing, and I'm super honored you're still here. 3

 **Coraxes** : re: fuckboy!damon, I am in love with the way you put this, so I'm going to refer to it _**constantly**_ lol. Re: cute-as-hell, I'm really glad you like the band-bonding and all the little nuances because that's part of the reason I wanted to do the rewrite, to challenge myself as a writer, and it really means a ton when readers pick out the little things I toss in there. Like I think I'm being clever as hell, but if _you_ guys notice it, I'm through the fucking roof. Re: your questions, for the Bonnie background, I actually do have a background (and I'm actually super proud of me for creating one, so yay) but your first question about Damon living in that apartment has actually been haunting the fuck out of me, BUT it definitely pushed me to really think about it, AND I came up with something, so you'll just have to wait and see how I address it! Anyways, you know how I feel about you + your writing (OMG IF YOU GUYS HAVEN'T READ HER BAMON STUFF, AT LEAST, YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE AND YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON SO MUCH) so I'll just say it's a real honor for you to take the time to read my babbling and even leave a review. Thanks fam 3

 **La p'tite Antillaise** : When you say you're "in your feelings", is that good or bad? I mean, as a writer, I'm thrilled that I have _any_ effect on _any_ of your feelings, but if you mean you're trying your darnest not to love him _because_ he's such a dickhead, I can relate. I'm glad you love it! I love you for reading and reviewing! Yay!

 **babekitt** : Ahhhh I love reading your thoughts back to back like this! Re: Bonnie, she's a little thing but she's a fierce and fiesty little thing lol. Re: the kiss, it's about fucking time lol. Re: behind-the-scenes, you know, I was thinking about writing companion pieces about the "behind the scenes", like that aren't bamon related, but I digress. I can barely keep up with this fic. ANYWAYS, I love writing about the band, so I'm glad you like it to! Thanks so much for still being loyal, reading and reviewing!

 **Send me your thoughts always! Your reviews are so encouraging! I love you guys a lot!**

 **P.S. find the fic on Tumblr (bloodandbourbon-thefic) and maybe find me (lightninginmyeyes) too!**


	8. Matty

**A/N: Hi! If you're new, this is a rewrite of my fic Blood and Bourbon, and I'm thrilled to have you. If you're returning, this is different from the old b &b, so keep an eye out for any differences!**

 **You know the Beginning, you know the End, but what happened in between?**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the TVD (or TO, if any) characters, any celebrity, or any brand name mentioned in this fic.

 **Warnings:** Monnie feels (I know not a lot of folks are on board with Matt, so here's the warning).

* * *

 **7/?**

 **Matty**

 **Word Count: 1727**

 **Prompt: "There's a difference between alone and lonely."**

* * *

Bonnie and Matt have a Sunday tradition: their apartments are roughly four subway stops apart, Bonnie takes the train to him, they jog back together, and Matt takes the train back.

He comes downstairs soon after she rings his bell. She grins wide and buries into his hug. They hadn't seen each other in a month, responsibilities popping into existence and wedging them apart. Any time she sees Elena more than Matt is never a good time; their personalities balance her out.

"Hey, Bon," his jaw moves against her crown.

"Hey, Matty," she teases, saccharine and mischievous. She knows his eyes roll—he'll always hate that nickname, but it stuck, especially when Bonnie wants to defuse an emotional moment.

He releases her and plugs in his earbuds. "What should I listen to?"

Sugary Bonnie disappears. Game-face Bonnie emerges.

"Something to console you when you lose." She may be convinced their Sunday tradition is a race, and she has to win.

He barks a laugh and chooses a playlist. They take a few minutes to stretch. Matt is a police officer who likes to stay in shape for the job, so she knows what she's up against. Being a law student, therefore with little reason to be as fit, she hasn't exactly been keeping up with her cardio in the gym. Still, she's convinced she'll beat him.

Matt offers a look, _ready?_ She nods, and they're off. A small park is nestled between their route, so they cut through. Not many people are out, early on a Sunday morning, aside from an elderly couple so they run freely.

That's what running is to Bonnie, freedom. Despite heart-assaulted chest and air-burnt lungs, energy pricks her legs and everything around and within her is on blast. Unlike Matt, she doesn't need music to motivate her springy steps. Pure willpower propels her. She loves the immediate rush running gives her, how her body takes this agile form that never appears otherwise. Nature around her, a silent partner beside her, and nothing but her goal in mind never fails to put her in a lasting good mood.

She looks to Matt, her well-trained best friend, and nearly frowns. Fifteen minutes in, and he hasn't even broken a sweat. Her clothes are already weighing on her. He grins at her, smug, but it quickly dissipates when he sees her face. Whether its panic from not winning or pain from exertion, she doesn't know, but his steps begin to falter. She follows, her breath in heaves. She's not out of shape, but her competitive streak—and shorter legs—cannot match Matt.

"I need to sit down," he lies. He finds the closest bench and pats the seat next to him. She wants to accuse him, _no you don't you're just pitying me, get up and fight me_ , but her body begs her to bury her pride. She's known him since high school, and likewise, he knows her enough to phrase his offer as a defeat on his behalf.

The best friend in Bonnie loves him for it; the cutthroat competitor hates him for it.

"Sure," she murmurs, and he stretches his arms across the back of the bench. "You _reek_."

"Thanks." She rolls her eyes at his chipper attitude and folds her tired legs onto the bench. Coil them, like a snake ready to attack. "I can't believe it's the end of September," he mentions as Bonnie fills her lungs with as much air as she possibly can.

"Someone needs to wake up Billy Joel."

He snorts and adds, "The year is just flying by."

"Tell me about it," she leans her head back on his arm. "Professors are already talking about midterms, and I'm like, 'the semester just started?'" Matt laughs at her disgruntled expression, so she swats at his side. "Stop making fun of my misery."

"Just glad I'm done with that," referring to their time together as undergraduates. "I'm guessing you already started studying."

She shoots him a lopsided grin. "My study plan started this week," then, she scowls, "but that nuisance neighbor of mine…"

"Oh, he's still…?"

The bane of her existence?

"Annoying as ever, yes." The answer pops out of her mouth. Then, she reconsiders, "… but, to be fair, he _has_ been a little less of an asshole this week."

"Well, that's good, right?"

Her face screws up in consideration. "Less is really only barely tolerable. He's still making an obscene amount of noise, just by yelling at his video games."

"You know, my offer still stands," his face is earnest, but his eyes shimmer, "I could come over in uniform. Psych him out a bit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, maybe even rough him up a bit. It wouldn't even be a hassle, I promise."

"It might make _you_ feel better," she manages through a laugh, "but he'll just retaliate harder. He's relentless, Matt."

"I'm just surprised you haven't evicted him yet." She gasps in disbelief, but he just shrugs. "Or, at least, tried to reason with him."

"There is literally _no_ reasoning with him."

Something has been up with Damon. Since she helped Rose that night, he's been slightly off—moodier and uncharacteristically secluded. Or maybe she's just not around when he leaves his apartment. She did, however, catch him leaving Dr. Flem— _Isobel's_ apartment once, after she specifically asked him not to sleep with her. She left it, though. This week may have been quieter, but she didn't dare question it. Some higher being is looking out for her, and she's grateful.

Or maybe Damon's brewing something, and this is only the eye of the storm.

"That doesn't sound like the Bonnie I know and love." She rolls her eyes at the cheesy line. "Just go full prosecutor on his ass."

"I know what you're doing." Bonnie springs to her feet and loosens her limbs a bit. "You're trying to compliment me to take my mind off the race—"

"It's not a race, Bon."

"—so _you_ can win? _I_ am the reigning champion, and _not_ because you _let_ me win."

"You caught me," he matches her motions and puts his earbuds back in. "You ready to be kicked off your throne?"

"You ready to be my footstool, _peasant_?"

Yeah, Bonnie's just a little competitive.

Bonnie's sneaker touches the first step of her apartment building, and she lets out a victorious, yet mangled, cry. It earns many stares… but mainly because she collapses onto the steps soon after.

"I did it," she gasps, drowning in her own exertion and sweat. "I beat yo' ass."

"You said you would, and you did." Matt plops next to her, actually out of breath. That's how she knew she won fair-and-square. "The Bennett way," he tags on.

She rolls her eyes, but still, a proud grin stretches her face. Matt knew Bonnie's family, her dad, and her Grams, so he knew from where her determination derived. One of the few things she is actually glad to have from her family.

A short-lived triumphant moment passes before Matt bursts it with, "I have to tell you something."

Leaning on an elbow, she surveys him: furrowed brow, fidgeting fingers around his class ring, averted eyes. She knows the many faces of Matt Donovan, and she doesn't like the one she sees.

"Give it to me straight, Donovan." Otherwise, he'll fabricate a cushiony story she doesn't care to hear. He sighs.

"I'm going undercover." Before her mouth could express the worry already drawn on her face, he adds, "It should only be until Thanksgiving."

"Should." He nods. "Confidential?"

"Confidential," he confirms, "and potentially messy."

It takes her a minute. She grieves for a few seconds, while his eyes are on her, but, the latter half of the minute is her stuffing her feelings into the deepest parts of her chest.

"Fine."

"Bonnie…"

"It's your job, I get it." She crosses her arms. She gets it. But, the box is leaking, and she feels like crying. "I can't ask you to _not_ do what your job entails. Your job has always been dangerous."

He pulls her into a sweat sideways hug, and she takes it despite their awful body odors mingling between them.

"I won't be alone, if that helps."

"With someone you trust?"

"It's Peterson." Amanda Peterson, his former partner, before she applied for a different division. He trusted her with his life.

"Okay… That kinda helps."

"But I have to ask you a favor."

"Naturally, she replies automatically, but adds, "but consider it a parting gift."

"My way into this… situation," she hates when he censors himself as a means to protect her, "is a gala, and… I need a date."

"And you're not going with Amanda because…?"

"Probably because Amanda is probably more into you than she's into me."

Bonnie's eyebrows raise. Amanda is gorgeous; she always wondered how Matt kept his cool all this time. "And I'm _just_ hearing about this because…?"

" 'Cause it'd complicate things." His tone implies _like how me and Elena complicated things_.

She drops the subject. "You know how I feel about parties, Matt."

"It's a gala." Her expression deadpans, and he tacks on, "You get to play dress-up with Elena… isn't that what girls are into."

Elena is. Not her. But she changes route again.

"What I don't understand is why you can't ask, literally, any of your other female friends?" It's not like she is the only one, and it's not like Matt is an unattractive guy. "Not that I'm not flattered, or whatever, but… aren't you tired of being alone."

"Aren't you?"

It's a low stab, but she gets it. They're both bitter about their Gilbert relationships, and, even between them, it's still difficult to talk about.

"Look, there's a difference between alone and lonely, Bon, and the fact is, I'm neither." His smile is all teeth, and she wonders if it's a smile at all. "I have you."

"Okay, don't be gross, Matty." He rolls his eyes on cue, and she offers a small smile. "I'll go with you, but after this whole 'undercover' thing is over, we're finding you a girlfriend."

"And one for you, too? Or are you into boys this week?" She's glad he's not like Elena and is comfortable to make jokes. She laughs.

"I'll see what I'm feeling when the time comes."

* * *

 **I know, posting two chapters back to back? Well, you guys waited a while, so I figured why the hell not.**

 **Casually dropping bi Bonnie vibes. Ever since Tumblr opened my eyes to Bonnie being bi, I can't not accept the headcanon. Anyways, here's some Matt x Bonnie feels. If you read SMA (I almost wrote if you _watch_ it lol, 'cause that's how fucking good Gabi writes), you know there is a strong Stefan x Bonnie friendship, and I am in no way trying to emulate that with Monnie in B&B. S7 piqued my curiosity about them (because my memory is shit and I remember nothing about anything before S6), so here we are.**

 **Anyways, let me know what you think about this chapter. I'm eager to hear your thoughts!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **xo**

 **Cassandra**


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